


Your Touch Was a Claim, and Now You're Mine

by LadyLade



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-02
Updated: 2015-09-02
Packaged: 2018-04-18 14:37:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4709630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLade/pseuds/LadyLade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Now Derek is aware of the way Stiles is scritching his lower back, how Stiles is practically melting to fit against Derek. He’s aware of the way Stiles smells like Dial soap and boy, and when Derek tightens his arms Stiles emits more arousal, spicy like gumbo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Touch Was a Claim, and Now You're Mine

**Author's Note:**

> Teen Wolf kink meme prompt: Stiles is a lightweight when it comes to drinking. He is an affectionate handsy drunk, Derek approves. And gets jealous/possessive when someone else gets Stiles' attention. Stiles gets embarrassed when he finds out who he had been groping. (Original is [here](http://teenwolfkink.livejournal.com/2069.html?thread=606741#t606741). Livejournal post is [here](http://ladylade.livejournal.com/10822.html).)

Derek finds out quickly that Stiles is a lightweight when he drinks. It’s pretty obvious when, after only two beers and a shot of tequila, the boy _giggles_ and falls into Derek to steal a hug.

“Get off me. Now,” Derek says.

“You scare me, but I like you,” Stiles replies.

Derek softens a bit, because Stiles sounds _happy_ , and Derek is realizing that he’s never really seen Stiles happy. Sure, the kid gets excited over everything from werewolves to marshmallows, but Stiles’ default mood seems to just be ‘good.’

“You smell awesome,” Stiles says, and then smashes his face against Derek’s chest as he loses balance.

“Thanks, I think,” Derek says, but he wraps his arms around Stiles.

Apparently, Stiles can purr like a cat.

How did Derek get here? Oh, right, he’s Alpha now, and has inherited a pack of whiny teenagers, which he has to watch over at a party to make sure they don’t wolf out on anyone or do something equally as stupid. And even though Derek will never admit it to anyone, Stiles is pretty much is pack, regardless of human status, so that means Derek has to watch over him too. To Derek, Stiles is the slightly irritating but loyal human that Derek isn’t sure that he _could_ get rid of.

At least, he is until Stiles nuzzles into Derek’s chest and emits a wisp of arousal.

Oh. Well, then.

Now Derek is aware of the way Stiles is scritching his lower back, how Stiles is practically melting to fit against Derek. He’s aware of the way Stiles smells like Dial soap and boy, and when Derek tightens his arms Stiles emits more arousal, spicy like gumbo. When Derek experimentally smoothes a hand down Stiles’ spine, Stiles _moans_ into Derek’s chest.

Forget the teenagers; _Derek_ is the one in danger of shifting.

“You’re drunk, Stiles,” Derek says.

“I feel _awesome_ ,” Stiles says, and then he palms Derek’s ass.

The growl tears out of Derek without his permission, low and rumbling, and the spice in Stiles’ scent spikes, his breath quickening. The situation is escalating too fast, especially with Derek’s wolf practically salivating at the way that his and Stiles’ scents are swirling together.

“Get your hand off my ass,” Derek says.

Stiles does, strangely pliant in Derek’s arms. Derek feels immensely satisfied, but he fights the wolf’s urgings to trail his nose down Stiles’ neck and scent the triangle between Stiles’ collarbones. Instead, he guides Stiles to sit on a couch and boxes him in against the arm. They stay like that for a while, Derek with his arm resting behind Stiles on the couch back and Stiles quiet, pressing his face against Derek’s shoulder.

It’s strange, with Stiles so silent, and it makes him uncomfortable even as it makes the wolf content. Stiles is relaxing into Derek, pressing as tightly to his side as he can, and each time Stiles leans harder Derek’s wolf tries to gain more control, wants to rub Derek’s scent over Stiles until he smells more like Derek than anything else.

“You’re warm,” Stiles says into Derek’s shoulder, and a hand starts to sneak under Derek’s shirt.

Derek captures the errant hand, gritting his teeth against the wolf battering at the back of his head. Since when has the wolf liked Stiles this much?

“Hey, Lydia, hey!” Stiles says, and just like that he’s gone.

It disorients both Derek and the wolf for a moment, until Derek notices that Lydia is just a few feet from the couch, now sporting a very happy Stiles hugging her. Lydia’s laughing and patting him on the back, and the snarl that Derek has to strangle is both his and the wolf’s.

The wolf is adamant that Lydia not touch what’s his. It might be that the wolf has more control than he should, but Derek agrees.

Derek’s up on his feet and moving the short distance to his wayward pack members, and as soon as Lydia sees him the smile drops off her face and she snaps into stillness. Not even Stiles hugging her tighter makes her move.

That, and the fact that Derek can’t smell any arousal coming off of Stiles, is the only thing that stops Derek from losing control.

“Hey, Stiles,” Lydia says, eyes locked on Derek, “Derek’s here! Don’t you think Derek needs a hug?”

And, once again, Derek has an armful of Stiles.

“Derek!” Stiles says. “Did you know Lydia’s here?”

The kid must be part octopus, because Derek can’t figure out how to still him from the puppy-like wiggling that Stiles has started.

“You should probably take him home,” Lydia says, and her look is calculating. The girl is too smart for her own good.

“Make sure those two idiots don’t do something stupid,” Derek says.

Despite the fact that Scott and Jackson were _pissed_ when Derek named Lydia his top Beta, they’re too scared of her to disobey her.

“Of course,” Lydia smirks.

Derek finally manages to hook an arm around Stiles’ waist and starts yanking him towards the door. Somehow, Stiles has gotten a hand in his hair and is gently scraping his nails against Derek’s scalp. It makes Derek want to press him to the ground and never let him up, not as long as Stiles is doing that.

“Hey Derek,” Lydia calls to him when he’s at the door.

The grin she’s sporting when he looks back at her makes Derek nervous.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” she says.

Christ, is Derek actually blushing? From the hysterical way that Lydia is laughing, he figures he is.

>>> 

Almost the entire way to Stiles’ house, Stiles shows off his ability to touch Derek _everywhere_. The boy is all hands, and even with the seatbelt helping restrain him, Derek is constantly batting Stiles hands away: from his side, his neck, his hair, his _thigh_.

This was not a good idea. No matter what Derek’s wolf thinks.

“Stiles,” Derek finally barks out, his control almost completely frayed, “if you don’t stop touching me, I’m going to pull over and fuck you against the hood of my car. _Without_ lube.”

Stiles stops, _finally_ , but he’s staring at Derek with parted lips and blown pupils, and the entire car is filling up with the spice of his arousal. Derek grips the wheels until his knuckles turn white and reminds himself that: a) Stiles is drunk and b) the Sheriff will _kill_ him.

Thankfully Stiles keeps his hands to himself the rest of the ride, and Derek is able to calm himself and tell his wolf to _shut up_.

The Sheriff doesn’t look pleased when he opens the door to Derek anchoring Stiles to his side, but then again he doesn’t ever look pleased to see Derek, so the situation is pretty normal.

“How much?” the Sheriff asks as Derek hauls Stiles over the threshold.

“Two beers and a shot of tequila,” Derek says.

“He can’t hold his tequila,” the Sheriff says, “just like his mother. Thanks for keeping an eye on him.”

“Sure,” Derek says, and hopes that the Sheriff doesn’t realize that Stiles’ hand, which Derek has just stopped from moving any further, was going straight for Derek’s crotch.

The Sheriff does realize it, pointedly look at where Derek is gripping Stiles’ wrist, but then he just looks overly amused. What is going on here?

“You should just take him off to bed, let him sleep it off,” the Sheriff says. Then he goes back to the living room, where the tv is playing softly.

Derek decides that maybe the entire night is just a weird dream, and hauls Stiles up the stairs. He practically throws Stiles onto his bed, and starts on removing Stiles’ shoes. By the time he’s done Stiles is wiggling out of his jacket, and Derek grins, yanking the sleeves down from where they’ve gotten stuck around his wrists.

“You know what we should do? We should cuddle. I’ll let you be the big spoon,” Stiles says.

“You know how to flatter a guy,” Derek says, and then tucks Stiles under the covers. “Go to sleep, Stiles.”

>>> 

The next morning Derek goes to check on Stiles. The Sheriff lets him in the house, still looking amused, and tells him that Stiles is in the shower. So Derek just goes up to Stiles’ room and plops on Stiles’ bed, because after he dropped off Stiles he had to deal with a slightly-tipsy Jackson finally having his big gay freak-out because he was in love with Danny, and Lydia was no help as she was laughing at the two of them the entire time.

Being Alpha is _exhausting_.

So when Stiles comes out of the shower, wearing old sweatpants and a shirt, Derek is sprawled across his bed, letting his wolf bask in Stiles’ scent.

“Oh god,” Stiles says.

Derek just cracks open an eye. His wolf is happy. He’s too lazy to even grunt in response.

“Look, if this is a new scare tactic it’s working because I might have groped you last night but I _definitely_ know I hugged you, at least twice, and you should be killing me but you’re just lying…lying on my bed.” Stiles’ voice sounds a bit strangled at the end, and Derek can smell a hint of spice under the stench of fear.

“You grabbed my ass,” Derek says, “and you tried to grab my crotch in front of your dad.”

Stiles pales, then blushes furiously, and Derek’s wolf perks up.

“Look, just get it over with,” Stiles says, and closes his eyes.

Derek sits up. “What do you remember from last night?”

Stiles opens his eyes, blinks, then admits, “Not much after Lydia told me you needed a hug.”

Derek’s wolf is focused on Stiles, wants to give chase. Derek indulges him a little, standing up and moving towards Stiles until there’s only a few feet between them.

“So you don’t remember the car ride,” Derek says.

“No,” Stiles says. He looks a bit confused.

“You don’t remember that you wouldn’t stop touching me,” Derek flares his nostrils as Stiles’ blush deepens, “and I’m guessing you definitely don’t remember me telling you that if you didn’t keep your hands to yourself, I’d fuck you against the hood of my car.”

It’s beautiful. Stiles’ blush travels down his neck, under the collar of his shirt, and the scent of spice practically bursts from him, flooding Derek’s nose.

“You, I, you,” Stiles stutters.

Derek smirks.

Stiles pulls himself together, though the blush is still there, and looks directly at Derek.

“You did, huh?”

“Yes,” Derek says. Then, like any good predator, he waits.

“I’m guessing I didn’t have to apologize at all. Wow, I think you might be even scarier than before,” Stiles says, but he steps closer.

Stiles is wary and cautious, not at all like his usual head-first approach, but Derek doesn’t move, not when Stiles is in his space. He still smells like fear and nerves and arousal, but there’s a focus that Stiles is rarely able to achieve, a concentration that’s all for Derek; it excites Derek more than Stiles’ scent. Slowly, Stiles raises his hand to run through Derek’s hair, and Derek lets him.

And then, he pounces.

He presses Stiles into his wall, and the shock of such a sudden movement has fisted Stiles’ hand in Derek’s hair. Derek leans in to claim Stiles, conscious of Stiles’ lack of experience, and it excites the wolf more, makes him triumphant. _This is how you kiss, this is how you touch_ , Derek says with his mouth and hands. Every sigh, every moan, every tremble and shiver that Stiles makes; Derek drinks them in, imprints them onto his lips and hands so he can create them again and again. He gives in to the wolf and, just like at the party, the wolf wants to nose down Stiles’ neck, so Derek does. He scents Stiles to his collarbones, laps into the hollow triangle and sucks a kiss there, sucks harder when Stiles jerks and gasps.

When Derek pulls back, a faint bruise is starting to form. The wolf is rumbling blissfully.

“Your dad’s still downstairs,” Derek says, “and I’d rather not get shot today.”

Stiles stares at him. He stares for a long moment, until he realizes that Derek is stopping them, and then he glares.

“You goddamn cockblock,” Stiles says.

The curse startles a laugh out of Derek, and he smiles for the first time in a long time. This kid, this irritating, loud, smart(ass) boy has been pack for a while, but now. Now he’s Derek’s.


End file.
